Camp Out in the Captain's Quarters
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: It was supposed to be their second shore leave camping trip. SUPPOSED TO be. Featuring ruined plans, thunderstorms, Spock in earthen pyjamas, domesticity, and generalised fluffy atmospheres. Post Final Frontier, but no spoilers!


**Camp Out in the Captain's Quarters**

It was supposed to be their second shore leave camping trip.

Only Mr Spock and himself this time; McCoy was on leave with Joanna somewhere in sunny California. Meanwhile, Jim couldn't help but be a little jealous of the older doctor as rain poured down outside his Iowa home.

"Well, Mr. Spock, that's our plans ruined," he said idly, turning back to his Vulcan shipmate.

Spock was sitting stiffly on the edge of a lounge chair, gaze pointed directly at Jim.

"There's no need to look so uncomfortable, Mr Spock. The chairs won't bite."

"Jim, I _can_ find alternate lodgings-"

"Spock," Jim interrupted, an amused smile playing along his lips. "Really. I don't care. There's even a spare bedroom. Make yourself at home."

Spock hesitated slightly before shuffling further into the chair, leaning back. "I must admit some... envy to the collection of antiques you possess," he said slowly, letting his Vulcan inhibitions fall. "It is quite extensive."

Jim flopped into the chair next to Spock, propping his feet up on the table. "Well, I do have a few of my friends to thank for some of them. And I get really, really bored when I'm not in space." He followed Spock's gaze to a particular artifact on the wall. "Roughly 18th century."

Spock nodded. "Yes. It is remarkably well preserved."

Jim yawned and sighed, sinking low in the chair. "I'm beat. Feel free to look around or whatever it is you want to do. I'm having a shower and then hitting the sack."

"That statement is illogical. There is nothing about sleeping that requires physical violence," Spock replied, looking up.

Jim smiled. "And yet, the illogical human mind employs it, anyway. Good night, Spock."

"So it seems... Good night, Jim."

* * *

Jim stuck to his word; he took a shower and fell into bed. However, he seemed to have missed when the rain turned to thunder and lightning, when their spring breeze turned to high winds. When he awoke at half past two, it was pitch dark and there was a thunderstorm raging outside the house. Infinitely glad that he and Spock hadn't gone out to camp, Jim yawned and rolled over, burying his face into the blankets. He hadn't been lying; he had been exhausted. It had been too long since they had gone on leave, much less leave on earth.

Thunder cracked and a blindingly bright flash of lightning lit the room. Jim opened his eyes again and squinted towards the clock. With a grunt and a sigh, he shoved the blankets away and pushed himself to his feet. He certainly wasn't going to be falling back asleep in this mess, so he might as well have some toast and warm milk, if he felt ambitious.

He was surprised, however, to find a figure, silhouetted with a flash of lightning, standing at the living room window.

"Spock?"

The Vulcan looked around at him. "Jim. I did not expect you to wake during the storm."

"I didn't expect to wake _up_ to a storm," Jim muttered, stretching. "Damn weather. Right during our shore leave. Lights, on!" he ordered. Light flooded the room, leaving Jim and Spock both blinking from the brightness of it. "Sorry."

Jim rubbed his eyes and looked blearily at Spock, doing a double take. While Spock had, understandably, been in proper 'casual-wear' earlier, he was no longer wearing the blue jeans, collared shirt, and zip jacket. In fact, he seemed to be wearing...

"Nice pajamas," Jim commented.

They were pajamas in as much sense as men's pajamas could be. A long-sleeved navy blue shirt and black cotton pants. They looked comfortable, although seeing pajamas on Spock was, after all this time, a first. Usually, they had their own identical Starfleet sleepwear, but never real _earthen_ pajamas. It tugged Jim's lips up at the corners.

"Oh. Yes," Spock replied, looking down at himself. "I acquired these from the small convenience store ten point three minutes from your home. They are... acceptable."

"Acceptable?"

"Jim, it is in my nature to prefer Vulcan robes," Spock replied.

"Oh, yeah, of course... Wait, you got those from the store? When?"

"Three point seven hours ago."

"I was in _bed_ three point seven hours ago," Jim said.

"Yes. I did not deem it necessary to explain that I was going to the convenience store. Should I have told you?" Spock asked, something similar to curiosity in his tone.

"No, I don't... I mean, I don't care when you go out, but I had pajamas you could have worn. At least a shirt and sweats."

"Yes. However, you were already asleep and I did not feel compelled to look through your drawers and closets. Regardless of that, our clothing sizes are not the same."

Jim sighed, although the smile hadn't left. "Yeah, alright, okay. Don't use logic; it's too early in the morning," he said, continuing to the kitchen to make some toast.

"It is acceptable to use logic at any time of day," Spock said, turning his gaze back to the window.

"Not if you want a sleep deprived Captain to understand it!" Jim called, putting bread in the toaster before returning to the doorway. "If you've got pajamas on, the only _logical_ assumption is that you're sleeping. Were sleeping, or planning on it, but what are you doing out here?"

"I am surveying this thunderstorm."

Jim sighed, noting a few, crumpled blankets on the couch. "Mr. Spock, were you sleeping on my couch?" he asked, tone slipping into an authoritative, yet teasing, tone.

Spock looked over his shoulder, looked at the couch, and then Jim. "No, Captain." A pause. "I was not sleeping." He looked back to the window.

Jim laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "Don't crash on the couch. Go to bed. Down the hall, second door on the left."

"I may accept your offer after I had finished surveying the thunderstorm," Spock said calmly.

Jim rolled his eyes, turning back to the kitchen. "Yeah, sure. Do you want some tea and toast while you're storm-gazing?"

"That would be most pleasing. Thank you, Jim."

"Yeah, you're welcome. Do you want sugar in the tea?" Jim asked jokingly, knowing full well that the Vulcan did not take sugar in anything if prompted.

"I believe that that was a jest, Jim."

"I do believe that you're correct," Jim replied, smiling as he put water on to boil.

* * *

**Random, domestic, fluffy drivel for my favourite 23rd century men. Prompted by _Book girl fan_ for 'Spock in pyjamas'. I got a little bit off topic, but I can't just force Spock into earthen pyjamas like I thought I would be able to. Nonetheless, adorable mental pictures provided for your prompt, I hope.**

**I do not own _Star Trek_. Your thoughts would be appreciated. Thank you!**


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